


Psycho Holiday

by outoftheashes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, Doctor Sam, Fear, Frottage, Insecure Dean, Insecurity, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Latex Gloves, M/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Murder, Murder Husbands, NaNoWriMo, No on-screen cannibalism, Psychopath Sam Winchester, Secrets, Serial Killer Sam Winchester, Stitches, Suspicious Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outoftheashes/pseuds/outoftheashes
Summary: Dean's convinced Sam's keeping secrets and is determined to get to the truth. Even if it hurts.Thankfully, the secret isn't what he's anticipating. But in some ways this secret is definitely worse.





	Psycho Holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rw_eaden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/gifts), [BlueNeutrino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/gifts).



> Written for rosemoonweaver's ficoween challenge (yes I'm posting it late cause I suck). 
> 
> There's no on-screen cannibalism for anyone worried how intense this'll get.

Dean scowls when he hears the front door creak open and glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 6:05am. His baby brother didn’t come home all night, which led to Dean tossing and turning alone in bed, worst case scenarios flooding his mind because Sam hadn’t even fucking bothered to text him back or answer the phone.

_Again._

Sam comes into the bedroom, pale and haggard. He blinks when he realizes Dean’s awake, an almost guilty expression flashing across his face.

“You gotta stop doing this, Sam.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I fell asleep -”

“Bullshit,” Dean spits, sitting up. “You look exactly how I feel. There’s no way you slept, dude. It really bothers me when you fucking ignore me - especially when I have no clue if you’re even, I dunno, fucking _alive_ anymore. For all I know, you’re in a ditch somewhere.”

Sam groans, shrugging off his lab coat. Beneath it is a white dress-shirt that clings to his arms. He walks over to Dean's side of the bed but doesn't touch him. “I understand that I deserve this, I do. But I’m bone tired. I feel like shit warmed over. Can we please discuss this after I get some sleep?”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles, rolling out of bed and walking right past Sam.

“Hey! Are you seriously gonna leave the room without kissing me goodbye?”

“Yes. I can’t stomach being next to you right now,” Dean says and heads for the shower so he doesn't get a bullshit reply. There's nothing Sam can say to that that would be worth hearing anyway. Not unless it’s the truth.

The thing is - he called the hospital earlier that night. Sam wasn’t working late and certainly didn’t fall asleep in the staff break room - which means there’s about twelve hours unaccounted for.

His little brother is keeping secrets from Dean and he’s not gonna sit around and listen to Sammy lie to him over and over anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean doesn’t ask Sam if he can take time off work, he just calls in and asks if he can use a week’s worth of vacation days. They’re not happy about it but he’s given the go ahead.  

After Sam leaves for his shift he collects pb&j sandwiches, beef jerky, energy drinks, chips, and whatever the hell else he wants for his long wait. It’s totally against the new diet he’s doing but can anyone blame him for a little stress eating?

He heads to the hospital and parks within viewing distance of the staff parking lot so he’ll know when Sam’s finished with work. Dean thumbs through _Flowers in the Attic_ but he’s too angry to take in the words on the page so it’s not long before he’s tossing it on the passenger seat in disgust and grabbing a stick of beef jerky, taking a vicious bite out of it.

“Screw you, Sammy. Now I gotta re-start this dumb cleanse.”

 

* * *

 

 

Well, the good news is Sam doesn’t seem to be cheating on Dean.

The bad news is Sam’s picking up a cooler with blood caked all over it and Dean can’t help but get Hannibal Lecter vibes.

So, yeah. His baby brother isn’t a cheater, but there is more than a twinge of concern that he’s a bloodthirsty killer. Why else would Sam travel to their vacation cabin? 35 acres belong to them. 35 acres become their own little world during the summer - and no one else lives anywhere near close enough to their summer cabin to hear screaming. It’s the perfect place to commit a murder.

Dean follows Sam to the cabin on shaky legs, doing his best to stay in the shadows and avoid any twigs on the ground that would make a loud enough noise to alert Sam to his presence.

“I know you’re behind me, Dean,” Sam calls and Dean’s blood runs cold. “Good thing I knew it was you or you would have been breakfast.”

Okay, _what the fuck?_

“That’s not funny, Sam.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Sam doesn’t answer until they’re inside their vacation home. He turns around to face Dean, a soft smile on his face. “I’m just eating. Lighten up, Dean.”

“Why did you have to drive _here_ to enjoy your meal, huh?”

Sam’s eyes dance in amusement. “Take a look inside the cooler if you want, Dean.”

“You’re really starting to freak me out, Sammy.” Dean takes the cooler from Sam’s hands, his whole body trembling, and lifts the lid -

“Is that a… is that a _heart_?”

Dean drops the cooler on the floor. He folds over and is barely able to stay standing.

“A human heart,” Sam clarifies, stroking Dean’s back.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna puke.”

“Don’t you fucking -”

Dean pukes right into the cooler and the mess gets _everywhere._ Especially on the bloody human organs that his baby brother was probably planning on eating.

_Oops._

“I’m gonna kill you, Dean,” Sam grumbles, making his way over to the freezer.

“Let's not joke about that crap when you're a fucking serial killer, yeah?” Dean snaps in return, doing his best to hide his fear because for all he knows Sammy is serious and he's about to die tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Realistically speaking, Dean should have called the cops on Sam. Gotten the hell away from him. Faked his death. Literally anything other than what he is currently doing. After a few rough fucks and three weeks of barely speaking Dean had joined the dark side. 

“Hey! You leave that kid alone!” Dean bellows, seeing red at the violence taking place in the dirty alleyway. There's a guy beating the shit out of some poor kid with a backpack, bashing his face with his fists. The kid is crying out “please” and “stop” and “take whatever you want” but of course the asshole won't quit.

Sam, who's been hiding, gives Dean a scathing look. Sammy likes to take his victims by surprise - Dean has just called him out, making the aggressor aware of their presence.

“Fuck off,” the guy snaps.

“Okay, Sam, I'm not sitting back to wait,” Dean growls and marches over to the dick hurting the kid before Sam can stop him and uses his momentum to get him off balance and pin him against the wall so he can do some damage of his own.

“Ow! What the fuck?” the guy whines when Dean smashes his face against the brick wall.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean says, voice low. “I saw you. You weren't gonna stop, you sick fuck. You deserve a not so friendly reminder to keep your hands to your goddamn self.”

The kid beside them is trembling, a hand touching his bloody face.

“Okay! You made your point! Just - lemme go!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Why should I? Give me one good reason I shouldn't bash your skull in.”

“I have a family!”

“That's not good enough.”

“My wife doesn't work… they need me!”

Dean shrugs. “Is she pretty?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Then she won't have any problem finding someone new or getting a job, huh?”

“ _Please_.”

Dean wants to keep going but the survivor faints, crumpling to the ground in a heap. “Great.” He lets the man go. “Fuck up again and I'll find you.”

The guy doesn't answer, he just tries to run out of the alleyway and is met with Sam and a baseball bat.

Sam doesn't hesitate - he hits the guy in the temple with the bat hard and he goes down with the very first strike. Sam checks the guy’s vitals but he's unresponsive.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam almost snarls as he grabs the man by the legs. “Help me get him into the back of the van, big brother.”

“What about the kid?” Dean murmurs, bending down to get a good look at him.

“Dean!” Sam hisses. “Don't fucking touch him, are you nuts?”

“You're a doctor,” Dean points out.

Sam rolls his eyes. “So?”

“So… I think we should take him. Not kill him. Just… patch him up? So he doesn't have to go to the hospital?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Sam grudgingly admits.

 

* * *

 

 

On the ride to the cabin, the kid wakes up with a whine. He’s groggy and disoriented and looks like he might scream.

Dean’s driving, so Sam is sitting next to the kid they saved in the backseat with his head in Sam’s lap. Dean eyes him suspiciously from the rearview mirror.

“Shh. Go back to sleep,” Sam murmurs, half a threat and half trying to be comforting as he cards his fingers through the boy’s hair. “Or I’ll give you a little something extra to help.”

The kid complies or pretends to be asleep after that. Either way is fine with Sam.

* * *

 

 

Sam is looking down at the man he's about to kill with a disturbing smile on his face. He's excited.

Dean definitely isn't okay with this part of the game. Eating people is a step too far. But he can support Sam wanting to get creeps off the street for good.

“Hurry it up. Jack could be up anytime.”

Sam sighs and turns to face Dean, hands placing his hands on his own hips. His face hardens into disapproval. It makes Dean want to hide in a hole. “You looked through his wallet.”

“Of course I did!”

“Dean, you get way too fucking attached to people for my liking and -”

“I was just curious!”

“And now you're calling him Jack.”

Dean pouts. “What you do is way worse.”

“Uh, excuse me? You're an accomplice. If I ever went on trial for murder and got sentenced you'd probably get almost as much time as me. So don't act like Mr. Innocent.”

Dean huffs a sigh. “Why does that matter?”

“Because we might have to kill him.”

Dean stiffens before shooting Sam a glare. “Absolutely not. Jack hasn't done shit to us.”

“He might tell the cops something, especially since what we did is essentially kidnapping -”

“We saved his life! I'm sure he'll be grateful!”

“Not when he sees what I like to do with corpses he won't be.”

Dean closes the short distance between them and pulls his brother into a hard kiss, his tongue seeking entrance. He holds onto Sam for a minute or so, just kissing him desperately. Then he breaks it, patting Sam’s cheek. “Knock it off. We scare him a little when he wakes up. Okay? That should make him keep quiet.”

“Fine. We can try it your way first. Go stand watch so he doesn't see what I'm about to do, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

 

It's almost crueler to kill a man when he can't fight back but Sam doesn't want to risk Jack hearing. The kid doesn't look much older than eighteen and he’d rather not scar him for life if he can help it.

So Sam grabs a fishing line and a stick. He makes a loop with the fishing line and places it around the unconscious man’s neck. The wood goes in the loop next and he twists it, which causes the line to tighten. He watches the man’s face avidly when the weapon starts to take effect - how can he not? Watching them die is his favorite part.

Scratch that. The struggle is, but he doesn't have time for this one.

Normally, this would be the part where the victim’s eyes would go wide with fear. They might claw at the garrote, desperate for air. They might beg with their eyes. They might cry. All of those things were acceptable with Sam.

Sam would get none of that this time around. Even if he wanted a struggle, he wouldn't get one - he hit him too hard with that bat. If he were going to wake up he would have groggily done so not long after being hit. But he didn't.

So, brain damage is already present because Sam got too fucking excited. He’s disappointed in himself because as a doctor he should know better - but at the same time maybe this turned out for the best.

If the man he’s killing this very second were awake, it’d take 10-15 seconds of desperate fighting for him to lose consciousness. But he’s already out, so in order to get as much as he can out of this kill Sam is going to use the garrote for minutes - mostly because he likes it. He likes the power it gives him. How strong he feels when someone’s life is quite literally in his hands.

Dean thinks he’s twisted and Sam is - but at least Sam only kills people who are asking for it. Bad guys. Criminals. Whatever you wanna label them as. Sam rids the world of the worst it has to offer. No one even misses the people he kills. Rapists and murderers, mostly.

And, no, he hasn’t seen this guy’s record, he can’t know for sure he’s the _worst_ \- but how good can you be if you’re beating the shit out of a kid as wholesome looking as Jack?

 

* * *

 

 

“You with me, Jack?” Sam murmurs, leaning in to inspect the wounds on his face. “Hmm. You need stitches. Mostly for cosmetic reasons to prevent scarring.”

“All right.” Jack’s gaze is far away, a possible sign of dissociation.  

_Better keep him talking._

“Lips _and_ eyelids,” Sam adds after a few seconds, gently tilting Jack’s face to the side with two gloved fingers. “How’s your head feel?”

“It isn’t pleasant,” Jack finally croaks, lifting up a hand but Sam bats it away.

“Let me.”

That gets Jack’s attention and he finally meets Sam’s gaze. “You have… is that my blood on you?”

Sam pauses. “Not really.”

Jack frowns. “Then -” His eyes snap up to Sam's and his face drains of color. “Oh no.”

“Is that any way to act after I helped save you? Sam asks, tapping Jack's chest. “Take off your shirt.”

“But -”

“I said take it off,” Sam repeats. He presses into Jack's space. “I won't ask you again.”

A small whimper escapes Jack. “Please don't hurt me,” he chokes out as he wiggles out of his shirt.

Sam rolls his eyes and presses his stethoscope to Jack's bare sternum, licking his lips when he hears the kid’s frantic heartbeat coming through the eartips. “Someone's scared.”

“You don't sound like you care.”

“I don't. No heart murmur, though. That’s good.”

“Please.” A shiver goes through Jack, his eyes wide and pleading. “I won't tell anyone that you took me -”

“Damn right you won't,” Sam hisses, placing his black Littmann Classic II back around his neck and before gently squeezing Jack's throat, enjoying the feel of his pulse. “Not if you want to live. I could have so much fun killing you.”

“If I was going to be your next victim I wouldn't have been allowed to sleep in your bed without being bound,” Jack points out, cringing at Sam's words. “If you really wanted to kill me you would have done so already.”

“Dammit, I was having fun and you ruined it,” Sam complains then shakes his head. “Fine. Let’s get you stitched up.”

“ _Thank you.”_

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes at most. But then, once he’s finished closing the wounds, Jack is squirming and can’t seem to stop. Sam glances down at Jack's crotch with a smirk, noticing his hard-on.

“I'll give you some privacy before we talk about how to care for your stitches.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s pacing around the living room by the time Sam comes out of Jack’s - technically Dean and Sam’s - bedroom. “Well? Do I play good cop or bad cop?”

“Give him a few minutes,” Sam says, waving it off.

“Excuse me.” Dean freezes, glaring at Sam. “I thought we were in this together? What did you _do_ to him anyway?”

“Are you seriously getting jealous? I have meat I need to butcher, you know. I don’t really have time for this.”

“No,” Dean says, straightening out his posture as much as possible, doing his best to look bigger and more intimidating.

It’s probably not working. Sam’s never been afraid of him.

“I’m getting really fucking sick of you constantly thinking I’m cheating on you, Dean.”

“I haven’t said -”

“You haven’t _needed_ to. Your face is very expressive, okay? I can feel you judging me every time we save somebody. Like you’re gauging my interest in them. What you need to understand is they’re not you. So _lay off_.”

“You still haven’t said what you did to Jack.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam says, clenching his teeth. “He was scared. But then he realized I wasn’t going to hurt him and his body got confused. Jack has a boner but I didn’t _do_ anything to give him one. I listened to his heart and gave him stitches. Okay? He’s just a kid. I’m not interested; I didn’t fuck him.”

Dean feels like a balloon that’s been sitting out after a party too long. His body is starting to curl in on itself. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.

“Nah, that’s not good enough.” Before Dean can fully process it he's being slammed against the nearest wall. “You owe me.”

“W-what exactly do I owe you, Sammy?”

“Take a guess.”

“Sex?” Dean groans much louder than he should.

Sam growls and quickly covers Dean's mouth with his hand. “Be quiet. Don't want Jack to hear. Don't want him to know you're a brotherfucker, right Dean?”

Pleasure zings through Dean and he moans against Sam's hand. Sam wasn't the chattiest guy in bed but when he indulged in Dean's kinks he could get really dirty with his mouth.

“Or maybe you do want him to know?” Sam pants as he tugs Dean's jeans and boxers down his legs before working on his own and taking both of their cocks in his hand, stroking them fast and sure and presses closer so they can feel each other's body heat as they hump each other. So Dean can feel Sam's hot breath on his skin. 

Dean opens his mouth to lick Sam's palm and his baby brother growls a warning.

“Bet he's never even seen a dick before. Poor kid would have a heart attack if he saw yours in my hand," Sam says, mouth ghosting along Dean's ear. 

_Oh, fuck, Sammy. You can't say that shit._

Well, that's what he'd say if he were allowed to speak right now.

“What do you think he'd do?” Sam muses, jerking them faster and making Dean's toes curl against the hardwood floor. He smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Would he run out the door screaming bloody murder? Pass out again?”

Dean makes a mess in Sam's hand, feeling dirty in a way a shower will never take care of.

“ _Sam_ ,” he gasps out when his brother finally takes his hand away from Dean's mouth. Sam's cock is still hard and straining.

“Yeah?”

Dean's totally gonna put Sam’s cock in his mouth. He's got a couple things to say first, though.

“We’re going to hell.”

“You're only now figuring that out?”

“Fine, we're going to the innermost circle of hell." 

Sam smiles in reply and gestures for Dean to get on his knees. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated. :)
> 
> I'm samanddeaninpanties on Tumblr if you wanna chat!


End file.
